


something more

by captaincastello



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Feelings, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincastello/pseuds/captaincastello
Summary: “I…” Connor tries again. “I don’t, I mean... I don’t think I can go on with you, like this.”





	something more

**Author's Note:**

> gaahh i just needed to get some hankcon off my chest, so here you go~~  
> this is unbeta'd; all mistakes are mine

He felt it for the first time, on the rooftop.

Fear.

He remembers the feeling of being scared.

He _knows_ being scared.

It’s an emotion he has become so quickly acquainted with, what with his constant exposure to danger in the line of work he’s chosen to continue; a sudden surge of awful in his stomach from simply watching Hank’s back as he’s told to step behind him, seeing different faces wielding different weapons and almost always not running away, but pointing said weapon at Hank…

It’s their job, they should always expect such to happen and just be prepared, says Hank—weird, because if this is “normal” in their line of work, it does nothing to desensitize Connor from it. It does nothing to calm him down as he replays their afternoon, thousands of simulations running through his mind in a timelapse fashion; it’s useless now that it’s all done and he knows, but he still thinks he might have missed something, or could have done something differently, otherwise Hank wouldn’t have taken a knife to his hand.

“Stop staring,” Hank snaps, pulling Connor back into real time. “It’s just a flesh wound. I’ve been through worse.”

Connor says nothing—would it be appropriate to tell his partner that he was scared over something like this? Over every time Hank stands in the frontlines, over every instance Hank jumps in the line of fire for a poorly situated civilian? Would Hank get angry, feel disappointed, find him silly?

All thought fizzles out when he feels the warm pressure of Hank’s uninjured hand on his head, fingers kneading against his scalp, leaving his hair in a disheveled mess. A myriad of things replace Connor’s recent disturbed thoughts—sunshine splintered by leafless branches, a warm blanket in the winter, brilliant large waves unrelentingly kissing a jagged cliff wall.

When Hank drops his hand, he lingers a second too long at the base of Connor’s neck before finally breaking contact. Connor immediately yearns for it back.

“This isn’t your fault, Connor,” Hank says quietly this time, almost as if it was only meant for Connor to hear.

Connor cranes his head to the side to look at him, but long greying hair obscure Hank’s features. He doesn’t seem to be angry, at least.

“Lieutenant— _Hank_ ,” Connor says, finding his words and his courage. “Can I be honest with you about something?”

Hank looks at him, an eyebrow raised, but not in annoyance.

“You’re a free man, aren’t you?” He says. “You don’t need to ask for permission all the time, you know.”

Connor pauses for a bit, scoots a little closer. They were the only people right now in the break room, but anyone could come in at any time.

“I’ve been… thinking. A lot. About us.” Connor begins, knows he has all the right words in his large mental compendium of languages, but somehow speaking them _aloud_ is proving to be… a challenge. As if he’s excited and yet scared at the same time—scared about another thing outside of work completely.

“Okay…?” Hank says; Connor might have paused for too long there. “What about us?”

“I…” Connor tries again. “I don’t, I mean... I don’t think I can go on with you, like this.”

Hank must have completely missed what Connor means, or Connor messed up somehow, because suddenly Hank’s expression turns from shock to sour real quick, and he shoots up from the couch, facing away from him.

“Yeah, I get it,” he says, voice rising two octaves. “I’m getting some years on me, and you’re an ageless cop who can’t stand having to walk around with a large alcoholic burden who goes and gets injured on the case. Well, maybe you’ll have better chances with Reed, or—“

“No, Hank—!” Connor stands up and follows Hank out through a back door and into the designated smoking area. Immediately, the two cops who were enjoying their cigs jump at the sight of a fuming Lieutenant Anderson, and leave without a word.

Now it’s just the two of them, and an awkwardness so heavy it seems to fill a space of its own between them.

“Hank, listen to me, please,” Connor pleads.

“Haven’t you said enough already?” Hank growls. “I thought we had a good thing going, Connor. Or maybe that was just me.”

“No, I feel it, too,” Connor says, desperation climbing its way into his voice. “I feel it validated every time I have to stay back and watch you stare down the barrel of a gun, or the blunt tip of a bat, or a knife—“

“That I’m an old danger prone fool to be rid of—“

“But even more when I see you walk in the precinct, or every weekend in the park with Sumo, or when you run your hand through your hair when you need to pull an all-nighter to finish paperwork, or when you simply doze off on the couch in the break room—“

“… what the fuck…?” Hank says, but weakly, and Connor takes a careful step forward to close the distance between them.

“What I’m saying, Hank,” he continues, a little bit breathless, “When I said I can’t go on with you _like this_ , I meant…” He pauses again, unsure why he’s getting worked up. “That is, I… you could say… Hank, I can’t… with being _just_ … _this_ …”

Connor looks up and catches Hank’s confused gaze, eyes searching Connor’s face for an explanation, for clarity—and Hank blinks back his surprise, understanding finally dawning on his features.

“C-Connor, I…” Hank begins, but falters, his eyes falling to the ash-stained pavement, and Connor finally understands this new kind of fear bubbling inside him. He wonders if this is all a mistake, if there’s still a way to save what they have— _had_ , before it comes to a critical point that they can’t turn back and revisit the good old times as friends—

“I, I mean, look at me,” Hank finally finishes, with a grand gesture indicating the whole mess of him—grey hair, age lines, last night’s whiskey stains, belly, injured hand, emotional baggage. Hank looks sobered up, embarrassed, even—as if he’s laid himself bare for the first time, albeit fully clothed.

Connor breathes in, walks and closes the distance between them, takes Hank’s hands in his.

“I _always_ am, Hank,” he says softly, willing Hank to look into his eyes. “I’m always looking at you. And I don’t find a single thing I dislike.”

Hank finally meets his eyes, and Connor sees himself reflected in them. “I’ll never really understand you androids…” But he doesn’t let go of Connor’s hands, nor push him away. They press their foreheads together and close their eyes, lean against the other like they always do. Except this time, something’s different, and they both acknowledge it, embrace it, nurture it.

“Permission to be intimate, Lieutenant?”

“… permission granted.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!  
> kudos/comments are love <3
> 
> if you enjoyed my work, do check out these other hankcon fluffs:
> 
>    
> [ code: i'm in your hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930450)  
>    
>  _“It’s just a haircut,” he says in the most exasperated voice he can manage. “Just get on with it so we can go back to watching the TV already.”_
> 
>  
> 
> [ show me new things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936784)
> 
> _Hank feels a new kind of heat climbing up to his cheeks, belatedly realizing what he’d just unleashed._
> 
>   _“I was a young guy with hobbies and good internet connection, okay.”_


End file.
